Moments of Clarity
by Carole
Summary: Sequel to Alone. Caspian resfic! What if Kronos wasn't the only one who returned? Now, once again, a monster has been loosed upon an unsuspecting world. Brimstone xover. SQUICK WARNING Caspian is a serial killer and a nasty guy doing nasty things.
1. Harbinger

Moments of Clarity by Carole   
  
Prologue : Harbinger   
  
The future is but an echo of the present and the   
present but an echo of the past and, as such, I ask   
you to stretch your eyes back across the sea of time   
to such a place where a ripple in yesterday began.   
  
Once, long ago, when civilization consisted of rude   
huts and villages instead of industrial towers rising   
against the sky, a day occurred, dropping into the   
deep that would change what the world would come to   
know as history. In the eyes of most, it was an   
unremarkable day, but to a group that thought   
of themselves only as the People, and to beings beyond   
mere mortals, it was indeed significant.   
  
Let the past lend clarity to the present in this tale,   
through the eyes of a child; a boy of the People on   
the Day of the Sun, ignorant of his power over the   
face of the world...   
  
***   
  
Ireto scrambled to his feet after his elusive brother.   
Zinair grinned at him widely from around the corner of   
their home, sticking his tongue out in his sibling's   
direction, a red swash of color against his sun   
darkened skin. Before Ireto could call after him, his   
tongue already forming the sounds of curses his father   
was wont to use after a poor hunt; the child darted   
out of sight.   
  
As pain flared up his leg, Ireto muttered to himself   
about the twinkling-eyed, personal monster he had been   
sent to look after. Looking down, he could make out   
stains of maroon turning the dirt to a muddy paste.   
Not that a simple thing like a skinned knee would slow   
him down for long, or so he thought,   
until a high-pitched giggled pinned him from behind.   
  
"No wonder your mother's waiting to clean you up for   
tonight." Chenia did not even bother to hide the smile   
on her lips at the sight her cousin presented, the   
smears of dirt painting him in strange and outrageous   
patterns.   
  
Ireto glared at her in childish fury, secretly   
thanking any god that was listening that none of his   
or her companions were in sight, but instead engaged   
in preparations. It was bad enough being insulted by a   
girl, but Chenia was both a few good finger widths   
taller and a year older than he, not to mention her   
undisputed place as ruler among the younger girls.   
  
Chenia was the great possibility of the village, with   
her perfect unmarked skin and unusual height, making   
mothers consider making marriage arrangements for   
their sons. She was, however, only nine and would not   
be a woman for three years yet. None of these facts   
mattered much to Ireto, for he was too young to care,   
even though he prided himself greatly on his nearness   
to manhood. Chenia, unlike her cousin, cared a great   
deal, and seemed to go out of her way to make everyone   
remember it.   
  
With immense dignity that would not have looked out of   
place on a monarch of a great country, Ireto brushed   
the dirt from his knees, grateful that no stones had   
wedged themselves beneath the skin. The whole effect   
was ruined by the obvious fact that he was not of a   
great noble house.   
  
Chenia raised a single eyebrow in response, a look she   
had perfected from her mother. "They say that the gods   
can see into your heart, so I don't think using mud to   
disguise your face will be any help for tonight. Of   
course, any errors on their part are bound to be an   
improvement."   
  
He turned away to hide his scarlet cheeks, not   
realizing that Chenia was merely repeating nearly word   
for word her sister's statement to her   
husband from few minutes before. It seemed as if   
he could never win with her, so instead of returning   
the insult, he walked off in a huff with a step that   
would have clacked angrily against the ground if he   
had been wearing shoes. The irritating giggle followed   
him, trailing at his heels like an over friendly dog,   
but Ireto would not turn and give his cousin more   
satisfaction with a further response.   
  
It was with such a mood, greatly damped from early   
morning enthusiasm when his father, usually tolerant   
of such things, had told him to grab his brother and   
go outside so his parents could break bread and   
prepare in peace, that he nearly trampled over Zinair.   
  
"Ireto! What took you so long?" That was, at least, an   
approximate translation of the hurried and stumbled   
words and gestures, completely ignoring that he had   
been the one to run off from his keeper.   
  
Without waiting for an answer, Zinair launched into   
another tirade of syllables. "I want to see the   
temple. I went to Mama and she said I could if you   
went with me."   
  
"If Mama said so, I suppose I could," Ireto sighed.   
  
The grandmotherly woman was the oldest in the village,   
who adored all the children and they adored her in   
return, in spite of some of her mutterings about   
various adults including parents. Often, most   
teachings about the People came from her lips, as the   
priest did not bother with such things, concerned more   
for keeping the blessing of the gods upon the present   
generation rather than the next.   
  
Ireto was also unsurprised about the sudden change of   
activity. Zinair flitted to and from different games   
constantly and he had anticipated the Sun Day for   
weeks, like most of the People. It would have been a   
lie to say all, for there was one who would not be   
showing his face until the morrow. Not that its evil   
stare would be missed by any.   
  
Zinair scampered on ahead, his smaller body passing   
between legs that had to move aside for his larger   
brother. The temple waited at the village center,   
rising before Ireto's eyes like a majestic god above   
the ramshackle buildings surrounding it. Unlike the   
homes of the People, the temple was stone, expertly   
cut, crafted and placed. Stonework was not a skill   
that any of the People possessed, but one tale Mama   
told, said that the gods had built it for the People   
after they had been driven from their homes lifetimes   
past. Ireto could not help but believe, for who would   
abandon such a wonderful place as his home? Any with   
such skill could surely have defended it.   
  
Today, the structure was not only decked with finely   
carved lines and masterful architecture, but also with   
cloths and ribbons of every color the women could   
create or the men could capture. Some ribbons clashed,   
yet the overall effect was one of celebration, just as   
had been intended as the decorations were removed from   
storage and the older ones replaced.   
  
Zinair's mouth formed a red "o" on his face, for this   
was his first time viewing the work the villagers had   
done. Ireto's mother had been worried he might try to   
purloin a few of the more reachable rainbow colors.   
  
She was, as was frequently the case, entirely correct.   
Zinair scurried forward, intent on the sky-blue band   
waving in the breeze before his eyes. Ireto, though,   
was forewarned and prepared, reaching out and grabbing   
the struggling youngster.   
  
Zinair huffed in defeat against strong arms, whining,   
"I only wanted to touch it."   
  
"So that green strip Mother found last year magically   
made its way under your bed?"   
  
"That was a year ago. I'm older now."   
  
"Not old enough. Come on, I'll get Mama to tell you   
the story." The perfect distraction, or so Ireto   
thought.   
  
"No, I don't want to hear a silly story."   
  
"Well, it's either that or take you home so Mother can   
bathe you in the river."   
  
Zinair followed, his hand still in Ireto's grip,   
dragging his feet at every opportunity. He almost   
escaped at Ireto's distraction when Chenia waved in   
his direction, snickering, but the two soon found   
themselves at Mama's abode.   
  
"Now what have you boys been up to?" Friendly eyes   
took in the scene before her. "Led you on a bit of a   
chase, did he? Well, you'd have to clean up anyways, I   
suppose."   
  
"Yeah, well, he tried to take one of the decorations   
again."   
  
"Zinair, I thought you were old enough to know   
better." The tone was not so much scolding as   
disappointed and the boy hung his head in shame.   
  
"I wasn't going to keep it. I just wanted to look at   
it up close."   
  
Mama nodded sagely. "Of course, dear." She looked in   
Ireto's eyes knowingly, realizing that he had come to   
her in an act of desperation, as his bloody and soiled   
body could testify. "I suppose you boys want me to   
tell you the story, right? I never know why you   
bother, the priest will do it tonight anyway."   
  
"But you do it so much better. I can't understand most   
of what he says."   
  
"Truth be told, neither can I. He does it in the older   
tongue, lad. I suppose I can spare the time, since I'm   
ready as I am now."   
  
She sat herself gingerly at the ground, leaning   
against the wall. Zinair crossed his legs in front of   
her and Ireto tucked his right leg under his left, not   
caring about dirt. At this point, it would make no   
difference.   
  
After waiting for the pair to settle themselves, she   
began to speak, her voice clearly telling a tale she   
had spoken a hundred times.   
  
"In the beginning of all days, the world was dark, for   
nothing had yet been created. Out of the darkness came   
two sparks. These sparks grew and became Garashu, Lord   
of Light, High God over Heaven, and his wife Alvinah,   
who was the delight of her husband and his wise   
counselor."   
  
Mama's voice took on a dramatic tone as she continued,   
ignoring Zinair's fidgeting movements, merely asking   
if he wished to hear the rest or not. With great   
restraint for someone his age, he remained totally   
still for a moment and returned his attention to the   
story, at least for several seconds.   
  
"Now, none save these two existed in all the world   
and, bored with the silence that was broken only by   
their voices, Alvinah went to her husband, saying,   
'Husband, might we not create other beings so that the   
vast emptiness around us be filled?'   
  
"And Garashu agreed, so both spoke names and called   
into being the lesser gods, gods of air, earth and   
sea. Now, heaven was filled with powers and the world   
was no longer silent for it rang with the voices of   
Heaven. Perhaps the greatest of these powers and the   
most beautiful of these voices was the Lord of the   
Dark, though he was not called so then and he was   
second only to Garashu and Alvinah themselves. He   
loved his creators then with all his heart and became   
their closest friend amid the company of gods, for   
none were so beautiful or quick as he."   
  
"Among themselves, they spoke and looked upon the   
empty world. 'Let us create creatures to inhabit it,'   
the gods said to each other. And Garashu spoke and the   
sun blazed in the sky. Then Alvinah spoke and the moon   
appeared. Next they named all assortment of stars and   
oceans, finally calling forth a variety of creatures   
to set upon the world."   
  
"The world was new and, in trust, they gave it to the   
guidance of the Dark One so that he might set all the   
things they had made in the proper places, setting him   
above the lesser gods in this matter. At first, he was   
overwhelmed by the great honor, but as time passed he   
witnessed the amazing wonders the creators had wrought   
and his heart grew bitter, for he could not call forth   
life, though many other miracles were done by his   
hand. So, he began to plot in secret, to lie, an act   
never before conceived of, and to tempt other gods to   
his cause saying, 'Why should we not be Greater Gods   
ourselves?' and plying them with promises of power.   
  
"Finally, when he had judged himself and his allies   
equal in might to all others, he challenged all and   
said that he was match to those who gave life and   
light itself. Those who had not given in to false   
promises rose up against him and battles waged upon   
both the sky and earth and the steps of powers created   
valleys and uprooted mountains. After many clashes   
between them, Garashu and Alvinah called out,   
preventing the destruction of the Dark One's allies,   
for he himself had fled to avoid the wrath of those   
greater than he.   
  
"In the silence, they called another name, summoning   
the one responsible for the divide of All. 'You have   
brought war into the world and turned your face from   
us and from those even who fought for you. But, we   
love you still and ask that you repent and mend this   
rift, for we would not destroy you.'   
  
"In pride and in anger, he refused.   
  
"Garashu said, 'You have brought strife to Heaven and   
destruction to the world. If you will not repent, then   
you cannot remain.   
  
"But Alvinah raised her voice also. 'For the love we   
feel for you and for the love of what we have made, we   
would not have either be made incomplete by returning   
you to the void. Heaven is barred from you. Go with   
your followers into the dark places of the underworld,   
to dwell amid the world-dragons, for they will heed   
you not and will not fall to whispering tongues.   
  
"So, the gods were cast down to dwell beneath the   
earth. The lust for revenge has twisted them into   
diabolic things and are gods no more, eager to destroy   
the souls of the People to hurt their creator.   
  
"And now I'm quite out of breath and that's all any of   
you are getting out of me for today." Mama waved a   
hand to the other children who had gathered during the   
recitation.   
  
Ireto nearly jumped out of his skin as someone ruffled   
his hair from behind, something he   
always abhorred. He jumped around in an instant,   
unsurprised to find Chenia and her irrepressible   
giggle.   
  
He growled under his breath. Someday he'd like   
someone to show her just what that tongue and   
generally annoying natter and habits felt like. It'd   
be even nicer if he was watching.   
  
Still, he remembered the manners and respect for   
elders that his parents had been somewhat   
unsuccessfully trying to drill into him. "Thank you,   
Mama."   
  
Voices echoed his in a cacophony of confused sounds.   
  
"You're welcome. And the lot of you should probably   
go. It's getting a bit late, you know."   
  
"Yes, Mama," came the dutiful reply.   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
Darkness was almost upon the People, who stood out   
front of the temple, save those chosen by lot to be   
sentries. The last rays of the sun were like the   
paintbrushes of giants, creating swaths of red and   
yellow against the horizon, despite the clouds   
breezing in from the north.   
  
Ireto was busy resisting the urge to scratch at the   
itch on his leg, rather than paying attention to what   
the priest, an older man in his twenties, was saying.   
As such, he was not watching as the ceremonial flame   
was extinguished, to be lit again on tomorrow evening   
and every night there after until the next Sun Day   
when the People were safe from the evils of the Dark   
and needed no flame to protect them.   
  
Instead, Ireto was one of the first, other than the   
sentries, to spot the figure about to enter the   
village.   
  
The figure itself was familiar; indeed it should have   
been for he had seen it continuously throughout his   
life and feared it at a comfortable distance. While   
other youngsters threw rocks at the man's house, Ireto   
believed that being half a village away from the   
occupant was the most prudent course. He would ignore   
the label of coward to reduce the chills that crawled   
at the base of his neck, just as they were doing now.   
  
So, indeed, the man was familiar but his presence was   
unexpected as the sentries nodded to him in passing,   
not calling out for fear of interrupting the   
ceremonies; perhaps as unexpected at the wail that   
erupted from the burden in man'sarms.   
  
Heads turned and the ritual words faltered as a babe's   
cries for love and affection reached the ears of the   
gathering. Bewilderment reigned, for everyone knew   
that a quest for love from that one would be futile,   
since he seemed to have no heart but a black void   
instead.   
  
The man did not even spare a glance; he cared not   
about their approval. Ireto knew that he was one of   
the People, but had no care for their laws and seemed   
to think himself above them. He was a killer without   
peer and had saved the village from destruction at the   
hands of raiders more than once, fighting like the   
Dark One himself and returning from battle with never   
a scratch, though good men died. Thus, he remained, a   
protector and, perhaps, because no one wanted to   
remove him.   
  
Suddenly, a great wind rose up from the north, the   
direction of the oncoming clouds that no one had been   
looking up to see. Decorations around the temple flew,   
cast from their places. Ireto felt a sting on the top   
of his head, followed by another on his arm. Slapping   
at it as one would a fly, he found no insect   
responsible. That was the last moment of peace.   
  
Pellets of ice fell violently from the sky, crashing   
on the people below. It seemed that the man and the   
babe had already reached shelter, and the sounds of   
the child were drowned out by cries of pain as people   
rushed to their homes and the temple for sanctuary.   
There would be no celebration tonight, nor any for   
many after. It was obvious to all that the Dark One   
had found their village and there was only one   
possible explanation. Ireto hid shivering in the   
temple next to Chenia, fearing that Garashu had   
abandoned the People after all.   
  
***   
  
A natural event, perhaps, but in the eyes of the   
People, something much more. For only the presence of   
a Demon could explain such an occurrence. A Demon, or   
the child of one. Millennia would pass when all the   
world would have forgotten these beginnings as the   
People were swallowed unmourned by time, when this   
child would finally die at the hands of a Champion of   
Good, but the beginnings are there...   
  
This lonely day would shape one who would shape   
everything after, echoes and ripples in an endless   
sea. In such a place among the People, a child grew to   
become a boy, accused of being the mating of his   
father and one of the gods of the netherworld. Alone   
and unloved, except by the one who raised him. In   
time, a boy would become a man, who would become a   
monster, who would become immortal.   
  
This monster would find others of his kind,   
terrorizing people into cities with walls and thus to   
civilization. As his father did, we will call him   
Caspian and, as one of one hundred and thirteen   
others, he escaped from the confines of the abyss. 


	2. Inferno

Chapter 1 : Inferno   
  
Hell was silence.   
  
Caspian was not thinking metaphorically; that was   
something he rarely did, preferring to leave such   
thoughts to Methos, who seemed to enjoy such   
things. Rather, he meant it literally. For this was   
Hell, the Underworld, the Land of the Damned and,   
contrary to popular belief, there were no pools of   
magma and hordes of demons inflicting various   
torments. Instead there was only a vast aching   
emptiness of All, infinitely more painful than even   
the most experienced torturers.   
  
Then, there would be the cold fire of a knife on   
flesh, the hot touch of blood and the scent of fear,   
not that Caspian would have felt fear, but he knew   
this more intimately from the other end of the blade.   
Here, there was nothing but desolation, no touch, no   
taste, no screams of tormented souls echoing through   
the void. Caspian knew. He had tried to call out,   
once, but even his own voice had not been heard. There   
was only mind.   
  
He'd wondered at first what had happened and where he   
was. Caspian knew he was dead immediately, the cut of   
the Highlander's katana and the feel of his quickening   
being wrenched away could not be ignored. It was after   
that was unexpected.   
  
He had no more believed in the afterlife, or at least   
that beyond the quickening, than he had in any of the   
silly mortal religions. Immortals like himself were as   
close as any of the fools were going to get to Gods.   
Had he and his brothers not been Lords of Chaos and   
Destruction, more fearful than his people's forgotten   
Dark Ones? Had not even his father's Powers failed him   
in the end?   
  
At first, he'd thought that this was where MacLeod had   
trapped him, but from what he knew of the Highlander,   
Caspian should have been some influence on him. After   
all, he was Famine, one of the Four Horsemen and one   
of the oldest and most powerful Immortals on the   
planet.   
  
Even so, there was no escape from this prison   
without walls. That had led him to an inevitable   
conclusion....   
  
His life had never been one to please any Power save   
himself. He had openly laughed at the gods and broken   
sacred taboos. Among the People, the flesh of the dead   
was sacred and to desecrate it a great offense, even   
the bodies of enemies were treated with reverence.   
  
Today, ever since the birth of all these young   
religions, even his more mundane acts were considered   
monstrous. Not that that hadn't happened in the past.   
His own village had stoned him to death as a demon. In   
this place of barrenness immortal memory rose up and   
struck like the blow of a whip with remembered pain   
and anger. The blows from stones gradually crushing   
him until he mercifully lost consciousness were felt   
by nonexistent flesh.   
  
Still, he had risen up like a virtual god upon the   
earth to punish them. Instead of being a cheering   
thought, as it normally had been, it only emphasized   
his predicament for there was the sense that this time   
there would be no second chance.   
  
It was said that the Gods could look into a person's   
heart. Only a few times in his very long like had he   
felt this way, abandoned and alone. To be alone by   
choice was one thing, to hunt alone by preference, but   
to simply be forgotten... Even in prison he could   
torment and taunt his doctors and keepers, knowing it   
could not go on forever. It had been quite amusing.   
  
Here, he did not even rate personal attention despite   
all he'd done. Someone knew him too well. Caspian had   
nothing here except his memories.   
  
"Where are your brothers now, boy?" asked a voice   
suspiciously like his father's. At least, so he   
imagined, knowing that it wasn't real. That was the   
real torment, that he would never know and never see   
them again.   
  
In his mind, he chuckled. At this point he was even   
starting to miss Silas' company. Vaguely he wondered   
at their possible success, or success on Kronos'   
terms. He doubted his brother really wanted to rule   
the world, so much as return it to the past.   
Something that could happen if the virus was released.   
  
Not that it would matter much to him, but he wanted to   
be there. He had been alone for so long, there had   
been so few people he could share with. Now it looked   
like he'd be alone for a long while longer.   
  
Despite the torture of nothingness, there was no   
guilt. Even now he scoffed at such a notion. All he   
had done was taken what he wanted, when he wanted;a   
much more honest philosophy than those of most. Nor   
was   
there insanity, though this place was designed to   
drive men mad, for Caspian had never been exactly as   
crazy as he let others think.   
  
He would have smiled if it had been possible, for he   
had always known exactly what he was doing and could   
tell what was real. It was hard to reach his age   
otherwise.   
  
He hadn't been stuck in the past either, unlike some   
Immortals who died young because they couldn't change.   
Unlike Silas, he hadn't locked himself in a time   
capsule. Yet even insanity couldn't have explained   
this landscape.   
  
Now there was nothing to do except wait and remember.   
Even gods were not eternal, that he knew only too   
well. The Horsemen had lasted a thousand years,   
eternity to a mortal, but not to him. It was betrayal   
that had dissolved them, a brotherhood he had held   
closer than life. Yes, that was the last time he had   
felt this way, though not the first by far.   
  
The Gods had indeed read his soul. Perhaps there was a   
tormentor waiting in the wings making him remember   
things he would rather have left alone. Still, he   
would wait. He certainly had time, didn't he?   
  
***   
Memory   
***   
  
The sun beat down on Caspian's partially shaved head,   
strengthening the outline of the stark black tatoo. A   
rock flew passed his face, narrowly missing his nose   
and he turned a fierce glare in the direction it had   
come from only to catch a glimpse of a swiftly fleeing   
childish figure. He ignored a few young giggles that   
came from the incident. The People bustled this way   
and that, preparing for their ridiculous ceremony. As   
if fire made any difference to the darker powers.   
  
The man ignored the looks directed at him. Man he was,   
now, but barely and his father dead only half a year.   
The jeers and half-muttered signs against evil Caspian   
noticed absently; he was used to such things. Had they   
not done the same as long as he could remember?   
  
Still, he fought and controlled his anger. His father   
had taught him well. Anger causes you make mistakes;   
use it, but don't let it use you. It was harder now to   
listen to a dead man, but that man was all he had   
besides the People, a bunch of weak minded fools lead   
around by their nose by the priest. They would believe   
him if they said the sun would rise in the west as a   
sign of the Gods' favor.   
  
The priest though, he was no fool. He had made himself   
the almost absolute ruler, but didn't have to do any   
ruling if he didn't want to. Caspian couldn't think of   
a better arrangement. Fool or no, however, time was   
slowly overpowering him. That was the one Caspian   
really hated, hearing how his father's death was   
deserved for his ways and denouncing a man who had   
saved their village from raiders out of dislike and in   
safety, as the warrior was confined to the grave.   
  
The path by the temple, crowded though it was cleared   
in front of him, people jerking back to avoid being   
too close. But this was out of fear, not respect.   
Among the People, he was alone. He lived among them,   
but was not one of them. Demon spawn, monster, devil,   
all these were words with which he was very familiar.   
But better to be this than cattle, eagerly lead to the   
slaughter. He smiled, a chill icy grin, and the space   
around him widened.   
  
Suddenly his hand reached up, catching with deadly   
accuracy the stone launched at him. There was silence   
and all heads turned in the direction of the one   
responsible. The boy was in the process of being   
deserting by his companions, undoubtedly the ones who   
had egged him on with taunts of cowardice and now were   
proving themselves of the title.   
  
Caspian walked towards the shaking boy, smile never   
leaving his face, infinitely more frightening than a   
glare or frown. Like a small animal before a snake,   
the boy froze. Caspian squatted down to the boy's   
level and twirled the rock between his fingers. Behind   
him, he could hear the worried family members trying   
to reach him before the "devil" did something to their   
son. He chuckled.   
  
"Good throw. Next time, though, make sure the target   
can't see you." He grabbed the youngster's hand and   
raised it up, opening the palm sweaty with fear,   
placing the rock on it.   
  
The small head nodded vigorously, hair bobbing in all   
directions.   
  
"Good."   
  
Caspian straightened himself and met the eyes of the   
boy's father, who was a good ten Sun Days his senior,   
before continuing his journey. A little kindness could   
be more terrifying than cruelty.   
  
Behind him, the whispers continued, speaking of the   
dark ones and spurning the gods. A memory came to him.   
  
  
"There are other gods than those they serve, though   
the priest would not have you believe it." His   
father's voice was a contenting rumble, but the words   
were intent and the small boy nodded. "The ones they   
condemn are more powerful and more willing to be   
helpful than Garashu ever has been."   
  
But even his father was like them, though he loved him   
dearly, he could see that now. His claim of   
supernatural protection had not saved his life.   
  
"No man can kill me. I have no need to fear death,   
that is why I can fight as I do. One who does not fear   
death is the most fierce of all."   
  
Caspian had believed him with all his heart, for his   
father had never lied to him, no matter how terrible   
the question he asked.   
  
The tattoo on his head was a protection like the one   
his father claimed. The dragon, god of the underworld,   
could stave off death, except from the most powerful   
of magic. A boy, nearly a man, had endured the pain as   
he had been taught as ink was pined into flesh.   
  
"I'm dying, boy." The words had killed his heart,   
leaving a black empty abyss. There was a cough. "He   
tricked me." The once strong voice was weak with   
illness, ragged and rough. It was then that the   
coughing fit began and Caspian was forced to pull the   
ailing frame up, as his father no longer could.   
Finally it subsided.   
  
Illness had taken him, robbed him of the one person he   
had cared about. Now there was only the People, whom   
he held in contempt and could never face without the   
vague claws of hatred tearing at his mind, who even   
now were watching him.   
  
Now, Caspian did not care. He continued to walk into   
the burning summer heat, the serpent on his head going   
with him into the inferno. 


	3. Exodus

Chapter 2: Escape   
  
Whisper, shadow, the faint hint of presence, not the   
buzz of a quickening, but a feeling of invitation. It   
was weak, but distinct against the nothingness of his   
prison. Caspian wondered if it was a trick, or if he   
was creating an imagined hope of escape, but it spoke   
to him, a faint clearly feminine voice he did not   
recognize.   
  
*?*   
  
It was clearly a query, perhaps trying to find out if   
he was still sane enough to respond. He thought loudly   
an affirmative, that yes he had heard her.   
  
The answer was not so much words as impressions.   
*Vengeance, alliance, will, escape.*   
  
It flew by so quickly, Caspian had to pause   
momentarily before his reply, sorting out what he had   
experienced. It was an escape plan. He had been right,   
the only thing that mattered here was will. One mind   
couldn't breach the barrier between the land of the   
living and the house of the dead, but there was more   
than one mind here.   
  
There was no more hesitation. This is what he had been   
hoping for. *When?*   
  
There was amusement. *When I tell you.* The mind   
retreated, but he grabbed on stubbornly.   
  
*No, He'll find out. We must be careful. I've waited   
too long. I can't talk much longer.*   
  
*Who are you and who is he?*   
  
*Ashur.* The voice swept as slippery as a serpent past   
his grasp, not answering the one question and   
vanished. Caspian wondered if the voice had been Ashur   
or if Ashur had been Him. Still, that didn't matter.   
There was a way and he would soon be free, reunited   
with his brothers and ready to take revenge on the   
Highlander if he still lived. The thought sustained   
him in the endless night.   
  
***   
Memory   
***   
  
Years had passed since the Sun Day last remembered and   
in this dream, another Sun Day had come and gone, the   
night passed without incident for the People, and the   
following day was a beautiful one. There had been for   
Caspian, however, an incident which was why he was   
trudging home late with his burden.   
  
The antelope had been mauled by a predator, but   
managed to escape. Why it had not been hunted down,   
Caspian didn't know. Perhaps the creature had found   
easier prey. He had followed its trail once he noticed   
the traces of blood. Exhausted from its flight and   
loss of blood, it could hardly escape the determined   
hunter and now was a heavy weight against his back and   
a delay to his feet. Sunset was approaching almost as   
fast as the village.   
  
So it was that he found himself passing the temple   
with the crowd awaiting the relighting of the   
ceremonial fire when the last rays of the sun fell   
below the horizon. Only the sentries had seen him, the   
rest stood staring at the aged priest and his young   
acolyte, Zinair. It was surprising that the man had   
survived this long when his father was so many years   
dead. Ropes of color, vivid by day, faded into orange   
and red streamers ruffling in the breeze. He had never   
before seen the ceremony, having avoided it since   
childhood and he rested his burden beside him.   
  
They were all so intent that it was laughable. It was   
not like the world would end if the fire wasn't relit   
at precisely the right time. With exaggerated care--it   
was the first time he was trusted with the ceremony,   
Zinair bore the decorated pot containing the glowing   
embers from an already prepared fire. His face   
revealed the weight of worlds on his shoulders. It was   
even more amusing because he was several years   
Caspian's senior and, had he not been following in the   
priest's footsteps, would have been considered a man   
experienced at his trade.   
  
Caspian laughed. He couldn't help himself. The whole   
idea of it was so ridiculous. Over the crystalline   
silence, the sound carried and shattered.   
  
The sound was a distraction. Zinair, unused to his   
dress, looked up.   
  
To the horror of the People, his feet tangled in the   
material that had been so lovingly prepared by his   
mother, and he tumbled forward, the pot with the all   
important embers flying out of his hands and crashing   
down the temple steps in broken pieces. The red lights   
fell to the ground, although some burned those too   
near the temple stairs. In the dirt, they dimmed and   
vanished.   
  
As one the People gasped in dread, but Caspian only   
laughed harder, picked up his burden and returned to   
his home.   
  
In desperation, the priest grabbed the largest of the   
broken pieces and ran back to the prepared fire,   
burning himself in an attempt to gather more embers.   
He hurried back, but the sun was down, the darkness   
had the opportunity to curse them. Still, best not to   
give it more and he started the blaze as best he   
could. The question that went through the minds of   
everyone was: would it be enough?   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
Zinair stretched his eyes to the limit of his vision,   
but everywhere he saw only dying vegetation and dust   
rising in the wind. Since Sun Day, there had been no   
rain and, slowly, life around the People was beginning   
to die.   
  
This was the worst catastrophe in living memory, a   
greater threat than the raiders for, with the sun,   
water is life. Even the river was drying up, the blue   
snake that had tunneled through lush green plant-life   
was now a dismal muddy brown trickling through the   
landscape. Animals were becoming scarce, many having   
sought greener pastures. Zinair was beginning to think   
that the People should follow them.   
  
He sighed. What good would that do if they had earned   
the anger of the Gods? It was his fault. Ever since he   
had disrupted the ceremony, they had been cursed. His   
master had been trying to divine portents in cast   
stones, to read a way to appease the Gods or break the   
curse that bound them.   
  
Soon he knew, the People would begin dying. Already,   
they had a gaunt look to them that spoke of too little   
food for so many. The children were the worst. He had   
none himself, but his nephews were as dear to him as   
if they had been.   
  
There was only one explanation for why darkness had   
been drawn to their village. Caspian had brought it   
back with him that night, trailing behind him like a   
black cloud of despair. Had he not caused him to trip   
and drop the embers? Could he have made a deal with   
some dark power and disrupting their protection been   
part of the price? He would ask his master if that was   
possible, for if Caspian was the reason that so many   
would soon die or be forced to leave their homes, he   
had to stop it, one way or another.   
  
***   
  
The stones could still tell him nothing. All they said   
was that something horrible was going to happen. The   
old man looked at them in grief. Something terrible   
was already happening. He prayed for rain, pleaded for   
water, but there was no answer.   
  
Soon, the People would have to move and many would   
doubtless perish on the journey. Even after, good land   
was occupied and the People would have to fight for   
it, though he doubted they would have the strength to   
do so. A solution had to be found and found quickly.   
He was ancient in the years of those around him and   
knew that he would be one of the many casualties.   
  
"Master? Am I disturbing you?"   
  
He turned his head at Zinair's tired voice.   
  
"No, I can't find any solution. All the stones say is   
that something terrible is coming. That you don't need   
magic to read, all you have to do is look outside."   
  
"Is it possible that one of us brought it in?"   
  
"I suppose, but I doubt it." Who could carry such a   
great evil on their back or their soul?   
  
"You do remember how Caspian came back and laughed   
during the ceremony?"   
  
How could anyone forget? Caspian had a grin and a   
chuckled that could freeze bones and make the dead   
shudder in their graves, if he wished it, not to   
mention afterwards.   
  
He knew where Zinair was leading. He'd always   
suspected Caspian's father of darker practices, but   
everyone feared him so much that there was nothing he   
could do. He did use them to protect the People and   
did not the end justify the means?   
  
Did they? That bore thinking about. Could it be   
possible that Caspian was responsible? Possibly. The   
man was unnerving and had never hid his contempt for   
the divinities and himself. Even if he was not   
responsible, removing him would remove a very   
dangerous person who was likely to snap at any time.   
There was something not right about him and his expert   
killing ability could as easily turn someday against   
the People instead of their enemies. Then there was   
his birth, or lack of it, and his finding. Bad omens   
all around. Perhaps this would be best.   
  
"Thank you, Zinair. I'll think on it and pray."   
  
***   
  
"It was you."   
  
"Demon."   
  
"Devil."   
  
"You've cursed us all."   
  
Accusations assaulted him from every corner. Caspian   
wasn't surprised; it had seemed merely a matter of   
time. The unforeseen coincidence of the drought with   
the accident on Sun Day would be too much for them to   
ignore and they could not blame Zinair, their golden   
child, so he was the obvious choice. Perhaps he should   
have left before now, when it was apparent where this   
was heading.   
  
A child had died this morning, one of the children of   
Ireto. Weak already, sickness had claimed his life,   
leaving the People searching for a reason. Now they   
surrounded him home like vultures around a dead   
carcass crying for blood. If they tried anything,   
blood they would get and it wouldn't be all his own.   
  
Yet they waited, as if for a sign, or perhaps the   
priest who came walking unhurriedly down the dusty   
trail that the People considered a street.   
  
"Hold!" The once powerful voice demanded silence. "You   
have charged this man with witchcraft of the worst   
order. Of consorting with demons and dark powers."   
  
"He's cursed us all."   
  
"He's not human. He's never been human. We all know   
his mother was a demon. Should have killed him when he   
was a babe and never let him endanger us!"   
  
There was a hiss of agreement.   
  
Caspian waited calmly. He already knew the outcome.   
With luck, he could force them to give him a warrior's   
death and take many with him. Still, it angered him.   
As if a man could cause a drought. He forced down his   
rage. There was no sense in wasting energy before a   
fight.   
  
"We know the punishment. Return the demon to the   
earth. Bury him in the rocks he sundered to climb his   
way up to torment us."   
  
Caspian could imagine the instruction he gave those   
sent to fetch him, but they were too low for even him   
to hear. Concentrating, he listened, not to the yells   
of anger and cries of blood, but for those who would   
drag him outside into their wrath. He gripped the   
wooden handle in his hands firmly, readying himself in   
anticipation and was not disappointed.   
  
There was movement at the entrance. Still, he waited,   
patient as a serpent waiting for the prey to come   
within its reach. The figure came into view, outlined   
by the sun and deadly heat, a black figure, strong and   
lethal. But not quick, not like the arm that reached   
out as fast as the serpent he mimicked. A blow to the   
face, the axe meeting flesh and bone and just as   
quickly leaving, pulled back to await the next victim.   
  
The body stumbled backwards, blood, the red elixir of   
life, covering what was left of the features. This   
lasted only for a moment. The man was dead. It fell,   
knocking into one of his former companions before   
meeting the dusty earth. There was a scream outside   
from the man's wife, high-pitched and shrill as well   
as yells of anger.   
  
"Demon!"   
  
"Monster!"   
  
"My husband. My poor husband." The wailing grew.   
  
Another entered, more cautious than the first. He too   
held an axe in his hand. Blocking the first strike,   
mainly through chance, he tried to make out the   
second, but his eyes were used to the sun while   
Caspian watched him clearly. The second blow reached   
his arm, tearing tendons and flesh. The axe fell to   
the ground, no longer supported and Caspian swung at   
the man's unprotected neck. The blade practically   
removed the man's head, the front half of his neck   
completely severed. The body crumpled to the floor,   
Caspian no longer caring, but waiting for the next   
opponent. There was none.   
  
"We can't kill him. He's a demon!"   
  
"Burn him out!"   
  
"Burn him!"   
  
No! With the drought, the place was like tinder. Soon,   
he could make out the scent of smoke. Caspian growled,   
a low animal sound. He would at least try to escape.   
  
Coughing, he made, not for the door, but the window.   
He dived outside, rolling to his feet, meeting a briar   
of spears. They had anticipated him and there was no   
way he could get by the wall of sharpened points.   
  
The first rock struck him in the face, breaking his   
nose. Blood streaming, he cursed them and their   
families. He threw the axe; it was no good to him now,   
but the blow missed. Another stone, then another   
tumbled down. Using his hands, he tried to protect his   
face, backing up towards the now blazing building.   
There would be no escape that way.   
  
Slowly, bones crushed, skin broke.   
  
"Monster!"   
  
"Fiend!"   
  
Like a torrent of pain, the rocks fell. Finally,   
mercifully, he lost consciousness, the house behind   
him blazing like a funeral pyre in the summer sun.   
  
***   
  
Like a swimmer coming up for air, he rushed through   
the blackness towards the light. With a sudden painful   
gasp air filled his lungs and eyes fluttered open,   
only to close again as they sought to adjust to the   
dim light. Caspian could smell the charred remnants of   
his home and the blood covering his now whole body.   
  
"Gods! He really is a demon. We didn't burn him soon   
enough." Zinair gaped at him, but there was no answer   
from the older priest, who clutched at his chest in   
shock. The man toppled to the ground, not breathing   
and Zinair kneeled over him as Caspian looked around   
in confusion.   
  
"They were right." The man was sobbing in terror, but   
didn't even think to cry out in alarm. Caspian shook   
his head in disgust. "You really are a demon," he   
whispered.   
  
Maybe he was. He smiled and stood on shaking feet that   
recovered quickly. With a well placed fist, Zinair   
fell to the ground unconscious. Caspian could just as   
easily have killed him, but he wanted him to suffer.   
  
Looking around, he recognized the temple. It was   
surprising that they had brought the broken mass that   
was his body their and had not just tossed it in the   
fire of his abode, but they probably wanted to use the   
sacred flame just to be sure. Luckily, they hadn't yet   
had a chance. There was no one else about.   
  
The temple was dark save for the dancing lights of the   
fire playing on the walls. For all their skill in   
stonework, the builders had not seen fit to have   
windows. It was perfect. He rummaged through the   
building, finally finding what he was looking for.   
  
Taking some of the newer, stronger colored streamers,   
he tightly tied Zinair's hands and feet. Another piece   
of cloth was jabbed in the acolyte's mouth, ensuring   
his silence.   
  
The man was beginning to come to his senses. Caspian   
gave him a quick slap to the face. Unfocused eyes   
turned in his direction. Grabbing under the chin, he   
forced the Zinair's face up, leaning down so that they   
were a few bare finger widths apart.   
  
There was a muffled moan as his prisoner tried to   
speak, but it was unintelligible. Caspian ignored it.   
  
"You thought I was a monster. I'll show you a   
monster."   
  
With that, he gave a surprisingly gentle kiss to the   
man's forehead above the eyes that widened in horror   
at the implications. Turning, he walked out into the   
village. Soon they would know as much fear as the man   
trying valiantly to remove his restraints and warn   
them. One who does not fear death is the most   
dangerous of all.   
  
***   
Hell   
***   
  
He'd waited. Finally, the time had come.   
  
*Now.*   
  
With all his will, he *pushed*, imagining the doorway   
opening and walls breaking down. Suddenly, Caspian   
could feel many minds with his, some pushing, others   
caught by surprise. These weaker souls were confused,   
but took advantage of the opening when it came.   
  
A rush, like a vacuum in space that needed to be   
filled. The world flowed past and then... then there   
was light, sound, touch, taste.   
  
Caspian reveled in the feel of the ground beneath him,   
but knew he had to move. They had defied the rules of   
the universe and would not be left in peace. He rose   
to his feet, pleasantly surprised to find that he was   
still clothed as he had been at death. He picked his   
way quickly around the bodies, people from all walks   
of life and from all times. He recognized none of   
them, but there were so many it was impossible to see   
them all.   
  
The world waited. He was certainly going to give it a   
welcome. 


	4. Bordeaux

Chapter 3: Bordeaux   
  
Nothing. There was nothing. Caspian had gone through   
every news report he could. There was no mention of   
Kronos' plans at all. That could only mean one thing.   
They had failed and were most likely dead. Only death   
could stop Kronos when he arrived at a scheme. The   
thought was appalling. Kronos was gone.   
  
It had been several months since he had last walked   
the Earth, almost a year. He had immediately gone   
searching for information, since the world had seemed   
unchanged and unconcerned. He wondered what had   
happened.   
  
There was only one thing to do. He would have to   
travel to Bordeaux himself. It was possible that his   
other two brothers still lived. Silas had been content   
for so long in his forest and Methos loved his   
creature comforts. They were unlikely to have gone   
through with the plan had Kronos been killed.   
  
He wished suddenly that he still had one of those   
stalkers trying to follow him so he could acquire the   
information from him, but he was dead and knew he had   
no quickening. That made it much more difficult to   
find one of them, since he couldn't sense the   
Immortals they were following. After his long time in   
prison, there was no way he was going to be able to   
use any of the identities he had prepared for his   
escape from the country before his capture and most of   
the people he relied on were gone.   
  
Besides, he needed some way to access them *now*.   
Well, identities could be bought. What he really   
needed was money to get the identity and fly to   
France. Everything else would have to wait.   
  
He struggled with the possibility that Kronos had been   
one of the escapees, but it was too late now. Most   
likely, he would find Kronos when and if he found   
Methos. He also longed to go to find the Highlander,   
but if he was responsible for Kronos' death, his   
brother would want to share. The real question was   
whether or not the other Horsemen had survived so that   
he would know where to begin looking.   
  
***   
  
"Can I get you anything else, sir?"   
  
"No, thank you." Caspian smiled his charming best,   
rewarded with an answering curve of lips, and the   
stewardess moved on to the next seat.   
  
He turned to look out the window, watching the clouds   
fly by below them, luxuriating in the comfort after so   
long an absence of touch. Even the suit he was   
wearing, so different from the clothes of his former   
identity, was wonderful. It was so nice of that man to   
help him get enough money to fly first class, though   
slightly disappointing that it had taken so little   
encouragement. But this was business, not pleasure   
and there would be time for a hunt when this was over.   
A few hours more and he would be setting his feet down   
on European soil.   
  
Those who knew him as Evan Caspari would have been   
shocked. Instead of a slightly ragged bad boy in   
leather, Caspian had opted for a business man, the   
tattoo on his head the sign of a rather wild youth.   
There was no help for it. He was dead so he couldn't   
grow his hair out over it. Other than that, he looked   
perfectly respectable, any other neat and polished   
suit and tie.   
  
He smiled. "David" had had no trouble getting out of   
the country. They had done quite a good job on him.   
There was no one looking for Caspari because his body   
had been found beheaded on a Bordeaux bridge. Caspian   
had no intention of going into the city itself because   
it was possible that there had been an accompanying   
picture in a local newspaper under a heading such as   
"Dangerous escaped serial killed found beheaded". It   
was better not to be recognized. Not that anyone would   
believe he still existed anyway.   
  
He continued to stare out the window, playing and   
replaying what he might find at the submarine base,   
both good and bad. And after that, just what he would   
do to MacLeod.   
  
***   
  
It was a blackened ruin. Someone had gutted the   
inside, destroying all evidence of Kronos' virus, fire   
annihilating all of his plans. The rooms were dark, no   
antiquated torches burned and Caspian was glad he had   
brought lights. Room after room he search for some   
clue as to what happened. There were no bodies, no   
remains of beheaded corpses or evidence of suggest   
they ever existed.   
  
Nothing. It was as empty as the newspapers. Someone   
had obviously discovered and destroyed it. The   
Highlander would not have gone to such lengths to wipe   
it clean of all evidence, removing the bodies he had   
killed.   
  
Suddenly, Caspian stopped. This room was not empty.   
The vaulting ceiling rose up into emptiness   
reminiscent of the void and at first glance seemed no   
different from all the others. In the center stood a   
table. The shock glued him to his feet. There were   
three weapons, arranged as they had been what seemed   
like so long ago, longer than his furthest memories.   
An axe and two swords. The third sword was missing.   
They had been place there afterwards, clean of ash and   
any trace of whatever had been used to eliminate any   
vestige. He stood in front of where the missing blade   
should have been. Methos lived, though whether he had   
sided with MacLeod Caspian did not know.   
  
He would have had to have been blind not to notice   
Kronos' jealousy. He wondered if that was what had   
pushed his brother to such an elaborate plan. Not so   
much the world, as to keep Methos at his side.   
  
He picked up his blade, an old, familiar friend.   
Though he no longer needed it, he could not leave it   
behind. He had a feeling that Kronos would want his   
sword also. Finally, he looked at the table with the   
lonely abandoned axe. These things could not be left   
here. Caspian had a feeling that at least one of the   
owners was once again walking the Earth. There was one   
who would know for certain, one who had choreographed   
the escape. Now all he had to do was find her.   
  
***   
Months Later   
***   
  
The drink moved rhythmically in its glass to the   
pounding beat. So far, no one had caught his eye. The   
glass itself was for appearance only. As an Immortal,   
alcohol had barely affected him, now that he was dead,   
there was no effect at all. Gazing around searchingly,   
his eyes took in the writhing bodies of the nameless   
club, just like several others he had visited since he   
had come to L. A.   
  
The past few months had been a waste. He had found no   
sign of Methos or Kronos. The Highlander was still on   
his own and alive, though if this continued for much   
longer, he would take matters into his own hands.   
There had been no sign of his mysterious benefactor,   
who he now believed to be Ashur, nor had he found any   
of the other escapees. It was not like he had had a   
chance to give any of them a really good look in his   
haste to avoid capture. Caspian wished that he had   
even   
considered that his some of his brothers were dead and   
had taken the opportunity to search for them, but it   
was too late now.   
  
Caspian felt the eyes before he saw them. Some blue-   
eyed blonde pretty-boy was making his way to the seat   
beside him, probably attracted to the bad boy persona   
he was affecting. Generally, he was the one who did   
the approaching, but with the slim pickings he'd had   
lately, he didn't mind at all. Sometimes it was more   
interesting to let the prey come to him.   
  
The look on the man's face as he sat down was all   
wrong. He kept staring up at the tattoo as if trying   
to make sure that he really had seen it there.   
  
"I know you." The voice barely carried over the music,   
reaching the Horseman's ears faintly, but distinctly.   
  
To this, Caspian merely turned to him and raised an   
eyebrow. It was entirely possible that he had been   
seen before, if this was the type of place the man   
frequented. Caspian, however, could not recall him. It   
was his next words that caught his attention.   
  
"I saw you the night of the escape."   
  
He was one of the damned then. Another soul adrift in   
the world. Caspian wondered why he had decided to talk   
to him. Perhaps for similar reasons as to why he   
himself was had been searching for others.   
  
"It's the tattoo. I've never seen another one like   
it."   
  
"You wouldn't." Caspian took another sip of his drink   
then tilted his head in question. *Why are you here?   
Why are you talking to me?*   
  
"Look, I can't talk to you here." His hand gestured   
around the room.   
  
This could be interesting. He shrugged his shoulders   
in assent and stood up. "After you, then."   
  
***   
  
"It was like this great big light suddenly opened up   
and I thought, what the hell, I'm already there   
anyway, so I jumped through."   
  
He was one of those that had merely taken advantage of   
it, then, not one of those who actually knew what was   
going on. Caspian wondered what he could tell him that   
he didn't already know if that was the case.   
  
"But that's not what I'm here to tell you, man. Our   
kind have to stick together."   
  
The case he had put up so far was not nearly as   
eloquent as Kronos' had been all those years ago.   
Still, he nodded for him to continue. He could always   
have a bit of fun later.   
  
"There's this guy hunting us down. He's already killed   
a few of the really powerful ones, you know, the guys   
that have been there for centuries. He almost killed   
me, got a friend of mine. Pretending to be a cop or   
something. Said that he was working for the big guy   
downstairs."   
  
So, they could die. Too bad he hadn't said exactly   
how.   
  
Interrupting the continuous stream of jumbled words,   
Caspian asked, "What's his name?"   
  
There was a momentary pause as his companion realigned   
himself. "Stone. Zeke, Zack... Stone. Something like   
that anyway."   
  
You would think that the man would pay more attention   
to such important details. Still, he was farther along   
than Caspian was, if only through blind luck. A man   
hunting them down, sent after them to find the   
escapees.   
  
He wondered if he had already killed Ashur. If not, it   
was certain that their paths would cross. Someone   
looking to destroy them would go after the ringleader,   
the one responsible, early on. This could be very   
useful, especially with the success rate this Stone   
had. He could lead anyone following him straight   
to any soul he was looking for... eventually.   
  
"You see why people like us have got to stick   
together, right?"   
  
Blue eyes were scanning the room where Caspian had   
brought them, saying that they could have the   
conversation undisturbed. His eyes locked on the   
'worktable' and he paled, but the Horseman brought him   
back to himself.   
  
"I understand what you're trying to say." Caspian did   
understand. It was the same reason that the Horsemen   
had been brought together, mutual protection from   
those who accused them of being demons and tried to   
destroy them.   
  
This man, however, would never be any companion of   
his. There was no way Caspian would have followed   
someone like himself home, except perhaps for the   
challenge. Even now, the man didn't even seem to   
realize the danger he was in. No wonder his friend had   
gotten killed. "You said that a few others had been   
killed. Do you know what any of them looked like?"   
  
"Nah. Didn't see them myself."   
  
"One last question. Have you ever seen a man, one of   
us, scar across the one eye, straight up and down.   
It's fairly distinctive."   
  
"Yeah. I saw him. Scary looking bastard, left just   
before you did. Why? He owe you money or something?"   
  
Caspian wondered why he hadn't qualified for the scary   
looking part. Who knew with some people?   
  
"Something."   
  
The man was looking around again, his eyes returning   
of their own violation to the worktable with its hand   
made selection of tools.   
  
"What were you in for anyway? Me, I knifed a few   
people. Needed the money. You know how it is; stuff's   
expensive. Funny, I've tried it now and it doesn't do   
a damned thing."   
  
"Well, since you've been such a wonderful font of   
information, I'll do better than tell you."   
  
Finally, synapses began to fire. Caspian could   
practically see the full blown terror; better than   
that, he could smell it. The man made a run for the   
door, but Caspian had locked on the way in. There were   
no windows. After all, he'd tried to make sure that   
there would never be any noise escaping from here. It   
was more fun to listen to them rather than be forced   
to   
gag them.   
  
In a rush of adrenaline, his prey tried to fight back.   
Caspian was stronger and faster, using his   
preternatural strength that he had grown used to over   
the course of several months, to overcome his fellow   
dead man.   
  
After all, he really did need to know what his   
vulnerabilities were and there was no better way to   
find out than experimentation.   
  
***   
  
The place was a dump, ranking even lower than his last   
place of residence. It seemed that working for the   
devil literally didn't pay. No one would live their   
by choice. The building was filled with the types of   
people that asked each other no questions and went   
about their own sorry existences. Caspian had to admit   
that he fit right in. It also had been quite a piece   
of luck that the room next door to Ezekiel Stone, ex-   
cop from the New York P.D., now deceased, had recently   
lost its previous occupant...and he hadn't needed to   
get involved at all.   
  
Now it was only a matter of time. As long as Zeke, as   
the charming girl at the desk had called him, didn't   
realize what he was, he would eventually find either   
Kronos or someone who knew what had happened to him.   
Now, also, he knew what his vulnerabilities were. It   
seemed that the damned could hurt each other, even if   
the living had no effect.   
  
Thinking back, it had perhaps been as mistake to cut   
out the man's eyes, but there had been no way of   
knowing what would happen. Hindsight was ever perfect.   
It could have gone on indefinitely. The light show   
that happened next had been vaguely reminiscent of a   
quickening, a storm of blue filled with faces and   
energy, which raised all sorts of unanswerable   
questions.   
  
Settling himself on the bed, which surprisingly   
remained stable, he began to wait. Sometimes that was   
all one had to do. 


	5. The Mark of Famine

Chapter 4 : The Mark of Famine   
  
The day was pleasant, the weather people typically   
thought of when California was mentioned, bright and   
sunny without a cloud in sight. It was just the sort   
of day when those innocent or naive could believe that   
all was right in the world and that monsters were just   
figments of the imagination. This would, of course,   
not be true. There were always monsters, usually in   
the least likely of places, the homes of families, the   
tables of restaurants and the offices of businesses.   
  
One such monster was quietly making his way to one of   
those least expected places. Caspian had decided that   
Zeke was not going anywhere today so he was now in the   
process of returning his book to the library.   
  
The library was not one of the places where Caspian   
could be expected to be found, which was exactly why   
he liked it so much. Perhaps another reason was that   
following Ezekiel was not as amusing as it should have   
been. That man had no life at all. Well, he was dead,   
so that was technically true, but Caspian would have   
thought he'd be enjoying his second chance in more   
ways than ordering huge meals at restaurants and   
stalking his widow. Lately, the damned souls he was   
hunting down were pathetic creatures who didn't even   
realize how they had escaped their prison. Now,   
Caspian was patient, but even he could get bored,   
which explained his trip completely.   
  
Pushing open the door, he took a moment for his eyes   
to adjust to the dimmer interior before continuing to   
one of the desks. Madeline, the librarian sitting   
behind it, smiled at him pleasantly. It was obvious   
that when he had first started coming here that she   
had been frightened of him, but now his presence was a   
welcome difference from many of the other visitors. It   
always paid to be polite, at least under certain   
circumstances. This had certainly helped the woman   
overcome her fear of his appearance, at least in   
combination with his constant visits. "Michael" always   
said "good morning", made small talk when he signed   
things out and invariably returned his books on time.   
  
"Michael, finished it already?" It was a rhetorical   
question. Caspian wasn't the fastest reader in the   
world, but he certainly had time on his hands. It   
wasn't like he needed to sleep, and who knew when Zeke   
would get a new assignment, though it was unlikely   
that he would acquire one today. The ex-cop had   
finally finished off seemingly innocent damsel who was   
actually a wolf in disguise yesterday.   
  
"I'm afraid so." His reply was touched off by the   
vaguely European accent he knew she found intriguing.   
  
Madeline took the book and pivoted to her computer,   
entering that it had been returned. Considering him   
with the dark unsuspecting eyes of an animal that does   
not know its looking at a butcher, she spoke. "If you   
liked this, Stacy's just putting up the shipment of   
his books we finally have cataloged." She gestured   
with her head down one of the many isles.   
  
"Thank you. I just might do that." He nodded and   
smiled at her, getting a returning grin.   
  
Walking down the towering isles, he could almost see   
why Methos loved these places. Almost. There were   
other things here more interesting than paper. His   
eyes widened at the man who turned the corner. It   
couldn't be...   
  
It wasn't. There was no recognition from the   
approacher and now that he was closer Caspian could   
make out the distinct differences. The eyes, though   
brown, were a shade too far apart, the face not quite   
the right shape and the man was shorter than the   
Highlander. Still, the resemblance was striking.   
  
"S'cuse me," came out of the man's mouth, muffled and   
faint. Caspian moved to the side to let him pass.   
Well, just because Zeke chose not to live his second   
chance to the fullest didn't mean he had to agree. It   
would be best and less suspicious if he left before   
the man. Perhaps he should sign out a book. Routines   
should be followed, like always. Without really   
concentrating, he grabbed what appeared to be a volume   
of poetry and proceeded in the direction of the exit.   
  
"So, what will it be today?" Madeline looked at the   
work in surprise. "Byron? You really didn't seem to be   
the type."   
  
Caspian schooled himself to not look behind him, to   
catch a glimpse of his prey, but instead answered,   
"I'm not, really. Never read him before, but you   
always hear things..." Byron was it? Well, he'd heard   
that the fellow was Immortal. It could be interesting.   
  
She nodded in understanding. How could you know what   
you liked if you never tried anything new? Scanning   
the book through, she handed it back to him. "Well,   
have a nice day."   
  
"You too." He nodded at her and made his way for the   
door, intent on concealing his inner thoughts beneath   
a mask of being nonchalant.   
  
***   
Memory   
***   
  
The salty-sweet taste of blood filled his senses,   
overwhelming in sensation. The woman gasped and   
gurgled, drowning. She could not cry out, for he had   
just removed her tongue. It would not have mattered if   
she could scream, there was no one who could hear her.   
  
Well, that was not precisely true. There were three   
people who could have heard her cries for aid, though   
none would have fulfilled them. One was Caspian, the   
other was her husband Ireto and the third was his   
brother Zinair. Zinair sobbed in horror while Ireto   
strained at his bonds, determined to avenge Chenia.   
  
The rest of the village was silent. Fire in this   
tinderbox was easy to spread, though in some ways not   
a satisfying as a hands-on approach. Trapping those   
who had been his killers in their own houses had been   
enjoyable. Not all of them had been killed that way,   
but fighting a man who was dead certainly did not   
bring many victories. The few survivors had certainly   
been interesting to play with in front of Zinair,   
whose constant praying and blubbering showed how close   
to the edge he was.   
  
It was unfortunate that the priest had met his demise   
earlier from shock, but it was done now and perhaps   
fitting that he had died from seeing that he was   
right.   
  
He supposed he could have continued to play with   
Ireto, but that was not his goal and he had already   
used Zinair's sister in law in such a way. So instead   
he merely, mercifully, stabbed him, letting him die   
quickly. Never once did Ireto take his eyes off   
Caspian's, still burning with the fiery fuel of hatred   
until they turned as glassy as a pool of water, empty   
and undisturbed.   
  
He turned to Zinair. "Well, it looks like it's just   
the two of us. Whatever should we do?" Caspian reached   
out and removed the gag. "That's better. It's more fun   
when they scream."   
  
Scream Zinair did, despite its uselessness. There was   
no attempt to be manly and brave, especially after   
witnessing Caspian's brutality. The killer ignored   
him. Instead, he turned to Chenia's tongue. Eating the   
flesh of the dead was forbidden. He smiled. "I wonder   
what it tastes like?" Turning back to his captive, he   
said, "Want some?"   
  
***   
The Present - a few days later   
***   
  
The man shook his head groggily, looking around with   
glassy eyes trying to make out the darkened room. An   
impossible task, for the room had been altered   
specifically to keep both light and sound from   
escaping its confines. Caspian waited for the   
inevitable questions, silent within the all   
encompassing shadows, smiling to himself. He could   
practically hear the heart racing, smell the adrenalin   
powering fear. This was what he loved most.   
  
"What?" The voice quavered slightly from dread. "Where   
am I?"   
  
Ah, the all-encompassing question. It was typical. He   
answered with unnerving quiet, the silence of death,   
not even breath disturbing the air in the room. As   
intended, that silence alone was more frightening than   
any answer could be. There was a pause, a catch, as a   
decision was made, whether to struggle in silence and   
hopefully avoid notice or to call out for aid. The man   
chose the former, pushing and pulling against expertly   
tied ropes, more likely to injure himself than get   
free. He had done this before, after all. From memory,   
Caspian moved, causing the faint brush of skin against   
cloth.   
  
"Who's there?"   
  
His response was to flick on the blinding lights   
overhead. The man winced visibly, blinking watery   
eyes. Caspian had been prepared and recovered quickly,   
practically gliding over to the confined man with the   
grace of a millennia old hunter.   
  
Eyes stared at him, trying to discern his identity.   
"Who are you?" The man had pride, trying to keep his   
voice, even despite the circumstances, not realizing   
the significance of the view. If he had understood,   
his voice would have shaken anyway. As if he would   
ever escape alive after seeing Caspian's face.   
  
Caspian flashed white teeth at him in a cruel smile.   
Brown eyes widened as the monster leaned towards him   
and he turned his head away. Caspian only went closer   
and, with his tongue, he traced up the displayed   
cheekbone and temple, removing evidence of dried blood   
that remained from the original struggle. The olive   
skin was smooth, ruffled only by the shuddering   
beneath it. With that, he backed away and moved to get   
some instruments. The man might not know who he was,   
but he'd soon know what he was.   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
It was beautiful. It always was. The man would do   
anything for him, anything at all. This was why he did   
it. Could there be anything more sublime? Caspian   
doubted it. He couldn't help but laugh at those fools   
who thought the Quickening was power. It wasn't like   
you could take that with you. This, though, this was   
Power, to have someone in the palm of your hand,   
owned, willing to do anything to please you. For the   
moment he reveled in it. There was no longer any hope   
in those dark eyes for escape, only for a surcease   
from pain and willingness of obey to get it.   
  
He caressed the man's cheek fondly. There was only one   
way this could be better, but MacLeod was in   
Seacouver, safe for the moment. Unfortunately, he   
didn't have time to play longer, though the past week   
had made up for his previous boredom. Caspian had   
other things to do, no matter how tedious and he   
couldn't expect his plaything to survive here.   
  
Also, someone might find him. It was better to make   
sure that there was no evidence thoroughly, rather   
than   
rushing through it. That lead to mistakes. It wasn't   
like it would matter if he got caught, he could fake   
death; it wasn't if he had a heartbeat, but that would   
mean leaving the area and Ezekiel alone. This, too,   
was part of the game. A much more interesting game   
than the one immortal's played, or at least so he'd   
always thought.   
  
The Horseman still had a bit more time, however. It   
was always so difficult to say goodbye to one of his   
toys.   
  
"Pet?" The question demanded instant response, a   
command and not a query, though it gave no hint of his   
intentions. Eyes trained upwards, though the head   
stayed bowed, prepared to submit once they knew what   
was intended of them. Using a light touch for his   
index finger, he raised his pet's head to face him. A   
feather-light brush was all it took.   
  
The purple and yellowing bruises on that face bespoke   
of his recent abuse over that past few days. Still,   
the man's face was too pretty for his own good. It was   
almost surprising that this hadn't happened to him   
before Caspian found him.   
  
That would have been such a shame. He pressed his   
mouth onto already bruised lips. There was no need to   
force the mouth open, it surrendered immediately. He   
claimed it with his tongue, knowing it was his.   
  
So sweet, that was what this moment was. Too bad it   
could not last longer. He wanted to keep his pet, he   
was his, but knew it was not possible. He drank in   
exhaled air, wishing he could drink in more instead.   
  
That was when it happened. It started slowly at first,   
then increased, curling down his throat. He could   
taste the surrender, the pain, the terror, winding its   
way up through his captive.   
  
Drowning. As fine as aged wine, sweet a sugar, energy,   
emotion, like a quickening with only the ecstasy.   
Caspian swallowed it all, his eyes closed,   
concentrating only on the sensation, not caring as the   
body shrunk and grew brittle beneath his hands.   
  
The rest of the world ceased for a instant, paused the   
consistent beat of time. It was as close to forever as   
his time in hell had been, opposite in feeling.   
Everything crystalized into clarity for a moment, he   
could feel the beating of life around him in the city,   
a great pulse of fears and hopes, dreams and failures.   
Then, as suddenly as it occurred, it was gone, like he   
was trying to draw up water from an empty well.   
  
He stepped back and opened his eyes, heady with the   
power he felt. The body before him was dead, as if it   
were days old instead of minutes, shrunken like it had   
died from lack of nourishment rather than a kiss. He   
wondered how this had happened, but it was fitting. It   
was, after all, the mark of Famine. 


	6. Hunters Teaser

Chapter 5 : Hunters   
  
  
Perfect. That one was the one. A small smile shadowed   
his mouth. The man he stared at intently remained   
oblivious. A few thoughts about what he would do to   
him flickered through his mind, winding their way   
leisurely between neurons. He couldn't help but want   
more, all this life pulsing around him and he wanted   
it, no, *needed* it so badly. It was more than an   
addiction, it was a necessity.   
  
With a small sigh, he turned away. He needed to space   
things out, the last one hadn't been more than the day   
before. Chuckling to himself, he made his way through   
crowded streets. He had somewhere to get to and a job   
to do, no matter how wearisome. A spring in his step,   
the hunter left his playground.   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
Zeke yawned lazily under the stream of hot water. Why   
he yawned, he couldn't have said. Breathing was no   
longer a necessity, but normality was something to be   
enjoyed, and a morning shower before heading out into   
the world was one of those things. Finally rinsing off   
the lather of soap, he turned off the water. Reaching   
out, he pulled back the curtain to get a towel and was   
confronted by a sight that both horrified and   
disturbed him. With a yelp of surprise, he grabbed the   
towel and wrapped it around himself, glaring   
indignantly at the person sitting on the toilet   
reading a newspaper. It was times like this that he   
really hated his job.   
  
"Don't you know how to knock?" Zeke practically   
growled, knowing how ridiculous the entire situation   
was.   
  
The Devil, who had remained fully clothed in what   
appeared to be a suit, smiled at him and folded up the   
paper, setting it neatly on the sink. "Don't worry,   
Ezekiel, it isn't anything that I haven't seen before.   
I thought I'd catch you before you went out for one of   
your five-course breakfasts. You do have other   
important things to be doing, like catching certain   
damned souls."   
  
The dead cop muttered to himself irritably then   
glowered at his employer. "Do you mind?"   
  
"Not at all." There was a Cheshire grin as suited legs   
recrossed and the Prince of Darkness reclined back   
onto the toilet.   
  
He continued to scowl. It was bad enough having to   
work for the guy, there was no way he was going to   
have to humiliate himself any more by performing a   
second rate strip show for him.   
  
"Fine." The Devil stood to his feet. "People these   
days are such prudes. I just thought I'd bring you the   
paper this morning. Section C8 is especially   
interesting, I have to say. You might appreciate it."   
With that he vanished and Zeke would swear that the   
smile disappeared last.   
  
After drying off quickly, he grabbed for the   
newspaper. He hoped this wasn't another one of the   
Satan's jokes. Section C8. He turned pages and the   
title of one article stood out to him, the black words   
taking on almost a demonic life of their own.   
  
'Mutilated Body Discovered, Cannibalism Suspected.'   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
The dumpster was a dejected shade of orange, or had   
been once. Trash littered both the area around it and   
the rest of the alley, fragments of garbage barely   
distinguishable from their surroundings. Graffiti that   
may have once been brightly colored, lay incased in a   
blanket of smog. Ezekiel Stone winced in distaste as   
he felt water enter his shoe as he splashed through a   
small puddle. It was here that the body, or what was   
left of it, had been discovered.   
  
As he reached closer he barely made out the fetid   
scent of death above the filth surrounding him. It was   
unlikely that he would find anything. The police would   
have already combed the area. Still, there was no harm   
in looking. Then, he could talk to the people in the   
area. Without Ash, he could no longer count on aid   
from the police so he'd have to start on his own.   
  
The newspaper had had few details, only that the body   
had been gruesomely mutilated and had been left here   
until discovered by accident. There were no doubts in   
his mind that this was the one the devil had been   
talking about. He had to stop this monster soon,   
before something like this happened to anyone else.   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
"I already said this, man. I don't know nuthin'."   
  
It was frustrating, but not really unexpected that he   
was no further along now than he had been before. It   
was even worse when he had to pretend to know   
information he didn't have, like the identity of the   
woman who had discovered the body for example and the   
condition it had been found in.   
  
Fortunately, the man he was interviewing continued, "I   
just heard the chick who found it and saw her run past   
me out of the place down the street."   
  
The man pointed vaguely to the right. "Pretty little   
thing, long dark hair, must be crazy or somethin' to   
have gone down there by herself. Hell, crazy to be   
walkin' around here anyway."   
  
The guy took a drag of his smoke, filling his lungs   
with their toxic touch.   
  
"Than again. She ain't from around here, didn't   
recognize her at all."   
  
"So, you didn't notice anything? Nothing unusual?"   
  
There was a wry chuckle. "Around here? You've got to   
be kidding. Sorry, I already told all you guys."   
  
Zeke took this as his clue to leave. "Sorry for   
bothering you." He picked up his coat, which had seen   
him to hell and back, and made for the door.   
  
"No prob." There was a pause. "Was it as bad as I've   
heard?" The question came with no warning.   
  
Having no way of knowing, but he could certainly   
guess, he nodded grimly.   
  
"Oh, man." Another long drawn drought echoed through   
the room as he made his way out.   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
He walked thoughtfully down the street, hands deep in   
his pockets. Now, he had a basic description of the   
woman he wanted to talk too, who had actually gotten   
close to the body and had seen what it looked like.   
  
Unfortunately, there were quite a few woman with dark   
hair in this city. It almost looked as if he might   
have to wait for another murder, something he had no   
intention of doing. There was no way he'd just sit   
there and wait, even if he had to waste his daily   
$36.27 on a psychic hotline or something like that.   
  
With gritted teeth, he finally left his thoughts and   
looked around. He had only walked a few streets in the   
same direction as the witness had taken from the crime   
scene, but if he kept going, knowing his luck lately,   
he'd get lost. Dead eyes took in the decrypted   
buildings, the children playing in an empty parking   
lot, and a hotel of the more disreputable kind.   
  
Suddenly, it clicked. One might even think he was a   
detective, he said to himself. There was no way that a   
woman would, alone, go knocking on doors trying to   
find a phone around here. Well, maybe. She had been   
making her way down that alley, but it was unlikely.   
There was no other place that she could have phoned   
from on his route. If she wasn't from around here, it   
could mean that this was where she was staying, or at   
least where she had called from.   
  
Hopefully, he was right. He had no other leads. With   
that he made his way towards the building. Fading   
white paint contrasted with the flickering `Vacancy'   
sign in the window. Ezekiel also wouldn't have trusted   
the steps with his life if he hadn't already been   
dead. There was an off tune chime as he opened the   
door.   
  
There was a slightly balding man at the desk, who   
turned his head away from a television at the sound.   
Making his way across carpet badly in need of repair,   
Zeke approached the desk.   
  
"Can I help you?"   
  
I hope so, was what he thought, but outloud he said,   
"I'm looking for a woman."   
  
Before he could continue, the man smiled sleazily.   
"Well, I think I can help..."   
  
Zeke cut him off. "Long hair. Dark."   
  
The man nodded dismissingly, obviously disappointed.   
"Oh, her. We've been getting a lot of that the past   
day or so. Second floor, room six." With that he   
turned back to his show. Now, he only had to hope that   
it was the right woman. Given the desk man's attitude,   
this was promising.   
  
The stairs creaked as he made his way up and he was   
glad when he finally reached the second floor. "Room   
six," he muttered under his breath, his feet coming to   
rest in front of said door and he knocked politely.   
  
"Coming," came from the interior, along with a few   
muttered expletives. The door clicked open part way   
and one feminine eye took in his appearance with a   
grumbled, "Not another one."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
It was then that he realized he didn't know her name.   
Well, it wasn't like he had much of a choice. Ezekiel   
pulled out his badge.   
  
"I'm Detective Stone, I'd like to ask you a few   
questions, if you don't mind." The door shut in his   
face, though his disappointment lifted when he heard   
the rattle of chains being unhooked and it opened   
fully.   
  
"Do you know how many of you guys I've talked too?"   
The voice sounded tired and she sighed. "Alright, come   
in. If I'd known about all this mess, I wouldn't have   
called it in the first place. It's not like I'm that   
good a person or anything." She sat down on the bed,   
rumpling even further the off-white blankets, and   
looked at him. "What do you want to ask me this time?"   
  
Thanks to her question, Zeke finally managed to get a   
word in edgewise. She seemed pretty blasé about the   
entire incident. "Maybe if you started from the   
beginning."   
  
"Sure. There really isn't much to say, really. What I   
noticed first was the smell. I'm still not sure what   
made me even look, I mean, it's a dumpster, of course,   
but I just had a feeling, you know?"   
  
She paused a moment for breathe. "Anyway, that's when   
I saw it. I've seen a lot of disturbing things in my   
life, but I don't think I've ever seen anything like   
that. I haven't slept since."   
  
That explained the bags under her eyes.   
  
"There he was, laying on his side in the   
garbage, the back of his head looking like, well, it   
had been stabbed with something and his face..." She   
grew pale and inhaled a shuddering gasp. "Well, you   
already know this. So I ran like hell, came here and   
called the police. That's all, really. Sorry I   
couldn't be of more help."   
  
"No, thank you." Well, he knew a bit more than he had   
before, but not much. Still, something was better than   
nothing and he doubted that he would gain any more   
from questions. "I'll let myself out."   
  
"Yeah, sure."   
  
***   
Elsewhere   
***   
  
He watched through the window the ebb and flow of   
humanity, woman trying to draw attention in   
ridiculously low cut outfits, others clad in business   
suits, men as well wandering to their apparently   
urgent destinations under his eyes. His focus passed   
over them; they weren't important, from the outrageous   
peacocks to the stern lawyers, business men and   
accountants.   
  
The body had been found. He hadn't expected it to   
happen this quickly. Last time, it had taken much   
longer.   
  
Still, it wasn't like he could just stop. He'd already   
decided on the next one, he was perfect. The mop of   
unruly dark hair and the quick smile. Handsome, in his   
own way. America really was a wonderful place, so much   
opportunity everywhere he looked.   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
Zeke decided to go home for the night, not to sleep,   
since that was something he no longer needed to do,   
but to think. It wasn't night yet, but he doubted that   
there was much more he could get accomplished before   
then and he really needed to get some ideas. He gave a   
little wave to Max as he passed her desk and she   
looked up from her computer and smiled. At his floor,   
he gave a nod to Michael, his European neighbor, who   
was fumbling with his keys and trying to get into his   
room. He moved on, catching the answering tilt of the   
man's head in the corner of his eye, the dark dragon   
embossed on pale flesh lowering in recognition.   
  
When he finally reached his own place, he closed the   
door behind him and kicked off his shoes, threw off   
his coat and flopped down on the bed. Well, not so   
much flopped, because the dilapidated piece of   
furniture would not stand up to the abuse, but he gave   
a moderate attempt at collapsing on it.   
  
***   
Later   
***   
  
He looked at the clock. He'd only been there for half   
an hour. This was getting him no where. He needed more   
information. It certainly didn't help that the killer   
could have come from any time at all.   
  
What he really needed was more information, a way to   
narrow his search. Usually, the previous souls had had   
something that tied them to the victims or the areas   
where he had found them. Unfortunately, no one knew   
yet who the body was, or if they did, the press hadn't   
gotten a hold of it.   
  
Ezekiel sighed. There had to be something he could do.   
  
Well, it was still early. He could try and convince   
Max to help him use her wonderful machine and see if   
he could find some information about deceased cannibal   
killers. With luck, he might find some information,   
before trying to dig back through paper records that   
could end up being well over a century old.   
  
There were a lot of sick people out there that would   
put this kind of stuff up for other people to read.   
After all, look at how many serial killer novels   
became best sellers these days. It was certainly more   
useful than waiting here for someone else to get   
killed.   
  
***   
Downstairs   
*** 


End file.
